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I follow the girl, with my eyes, as she crashes off into the woods... I don't quite understand what I just happened here...
Something wicked. Certainly... I watch, and listen, for a few moments, but the banshee doesn't return. I walk, cautiously, to the bridge, fearful that I might upset the scene of what was obviously some kind of crime, if not against man than, at the very least against the air and sky...
I study the scene, the path over the bridge, the wooden slats of the railing... looking for some clue to help me understand what I've seen... I lean over the rail and look into the current of the water, perhaps to get a glimpse of the remnants of the book that she tore to shreds. All I can see is a tired face looking back at me.